


Respite on the Road

by Saentorine



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Competition, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Everyone Is Gay, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Lemon, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slash, Sloppy Seconds, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saentorine/pseuds/Saentorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stress of the journey and various personal tensions come to a head for four members of the Fellowship. Purely ridiculous porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite on the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarmetiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarmetiel/gifts).



> So I wrote some ridiculous porn. It's not canon compliant, the consent doesn't make sense . . . it's just ridiculous. The tags should make everything pretty clear.
> 
> You can blame [tarmetiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tarmetiel/pseuds/tarmetiel).

It was only once they left Lothlórien that the company began to feel comfortable again. Aragorn had to figure that if the elves there had faith in them, it couldn’t be _all_ bad, even if they had lost Gandalf along the way. Ultimately, he figured, one could get used to anything-- even constant threat of peril. At some point a man (or elf, dwarf, or hobbit) simply coped and moved forward as if this new life were normal.

But perhaps things were beginning to feel _too_ normal for some of the company. Sex, even perfunctory self-pleasure, had been the farthest thing from anyone’s mind in the first weeks on the road as they faced brutal terrain and freezing temperatures, always hiding from wraiths and the crawling glowing-eyed beast that appeared to be following them. No one was properly rested at any point, let alone with the leisure time to take care of that business. But now that they’d had a respite among the Elves, some proper sleep and food better than their conservative road provisions, they had regained a mind towards other cravings of their bodies. So far that had meant a little more shuffling in bedrolls at night and the occasional bid for privacy off in a bush somewhere-- such a relief when but a week ago they hadn’t even strayed out of sight from one another to pee! Yet everyone had simply taken care of themselves . . . until now.

The first thing that he made out as he and Gimli-- returning to camp after having been on assignment to tie up the boats while the halflings began preparing the evening’s meal after another day on the river-- approached the clearing was grunting and groaning. Aragorn immediately thought of ambush, assassins, battle. However, there was no clang of weaponry, only a steady thud-thud-thud of skin against skin, so he continued carefully, the dwarf silently at his heels.

When he finally made out what was happening in the clearing at first all he could see was yellow hair flailing before he perceived the completely nude form of Legolas, lithe with muscles drawn tight as one of his bowstrings, facedown with his ass in the air. Thick hands nearly encircled his small waist and behind him, hips thrusting from behind in a nearly mechanical rhythm, was the broad figure of Boromir, stripped of his tunic with his trousers around his ankles. 

“What are you doing?” Aragorn cried towards Boromir, at first mistaking Legolas for unconscious. However, the moment he said it he could detect moaning beneath Boromir’s grunting and the slap of his hips against Legolas’s ass, indicating _pleasure_ , and likely consent. Legolas groaned and gasped as his hands feebly clawed for purchase in the earth before him as Boromir’s thrusting pushed him forward onto his forearms upon the ground. Aragorn felt the heat rising perilously in his own face, desperately wishing he hadn’t said a word. 

Boromir didn’t miss a beat, his eyes rising to meet his intruders’ and his lips curling back from his teeth into a triumphant grin. “Jealous you didn’t ask first?”

“Some of us are polite enough not to ask,” said Aragorn through gritted teeth. However, the reality was he had thought about it-- thought about it _a lot_ \-- but refrained simply couldn’t face the embarrassment of possibly being turned down. He’d learned with some surprise a few years ago that despite the strict constraints elves observed in marriage and procreation, without the possibility of pregnancy homosexuality was immune-- and depending on the telling, the Valar turned a blind eye or even _encouraged_ the practice as a way of a release and practice for those who might not marry for thousands of years. With that in mind, he’d been eying Legolas’s legging-clad buttocks with some hunger. The blond elf reminded him of the pale ethereal beauty of his betrothed but also had a charm all his own, with his fair hair and frame even more lean and muscular than Arwen’s soft curves. However, the thought that Legolas might reject an advance from the strange, foreign man he’d been bid to follow-- which would in all likelihood be laughingly told to other elves and eventually find its way to the ears of his foster-family that would never let him live it down-- had stayed him presenting even the smallest hint of flirtation or interest.

Unfortunately, his hesitation meant his would-be paramour was now being irreverently pounded by hulking Boromir, his face red and gleaming with sweat, some of it beading in his short beard and forming wet spears of hair stuck to his forehead. His mouth grimaced in aggressive pleasure as he assaulted Legolas’s perfect blushing ass, grunting like some kind of beast. Aragorn wondered if _he_ looked like that when he fucked? He thought of Elrond’s undisguised disgust for men and wondered if maybe he should just forgo extending the line of Isuldir if _that’s_ what it would look like.

“Frankly, he didn’t need to be _asked_ ,” Boromir retorted. He reached down and twisted his thick fingers into Legolas’s golden hair, jerking his face into view. “Did you?” he asked the elf, whose eyes were screwed shut in the paroxysm of bliss. Aragorn supposed the moan he got in response was assent, though maybe it was just the assault on his prostrate as he was held at the new angle. He felt himself stiffen against the front of his leggings as he thought to himself that _he_ would have demanded a proper coherent answer from Legolas with a hearty slap to his rear . . . but alas, it was not he who was fucking him.

“We make a perilous journey and you waste time and energy with this diversion,” he continued, trying his hardest to maintain the authoritative dignity of the leader he was meant to be to the company. “What would Gandalf think?”

In truth he would probably just chuckle, Aragorn had to admit; when they weren’t putting their mission in danger, he seemed mostly amused by the antics of their company. But crashing Boromir’s joyride was his primary concern at the moment and he was apparently willing to call up their dead companion to achieve it.

“Don’t be morose,” Boromir replied, obviously reading Aragorn’s jealousy through his attempt at disdain. “Our morale hasn’t been this good since Rivendell, and if I called myself a leader I’d encourage whatever kept it up.”

The slight towards Aragorn was obvious.

“Gimli!” Boromir barked suddenly as he pulled out of Legolas and turned to their dwarven companion, who had taken in the scene in stunned silence but was colored as red as his hair and pushing down on his helm down to try to hide his face. “The elf has been vexing you persistently on our quest. Perhaps you’d enjoy the opportunity to put him in his place?”

Boromir had obviously read the same conflicted tension between the elf and dwarf as Aragorn had; Legolas and Gimli’s arguing had always been a _little_ over the top to be justified simply by the ancient feud between their peoples. Their own parents had been war allies within the last century; there was really no reason for them to carry on provoking and bickering as they did unless they were on some level enjoying it.

Gimli stole a shy glance at Aragorn, but although the ranger’s bewildered expression did not indicate permission, it didn’t prohibit, either, so he apparently took it as he wanted to see it and dashed forward to take Boromir’s offering. Legolas jerked in surprise and squirmed at the assault of the new penetration, but with Boromir’s hands twisted in his hair he was unable to turn or resist in any fashion and after a moment simply began rocking his hips backwards in a rhythm that obviously pleased Gimli, if his slack jaw and the sustained continued color in his face was any indication.

Meanwhile, Boromir had walked around to wrench Legolas’s face upward and force the elf’s mouth upon his swollen cock. Thinking of where it had just been, Aragorn’s face contorted in disgust. “Boromir, that’s incredibly dirty--“

“—-just the way he likes it,” Boromir insisted, perhaps more for Legolas’s benefit than his own, judging by the shuddering whimper that emerged from beneath the fair hair. He met Aragorn’s eyes in boast again as he thrust deep into the elf’s throat. By now Aragorn deduced that showing off was getting him off, and his flushing outrage was only encouraging him-- but the next thing out of his mouth only clinched that Boromir really was out for others’ humiliation.

“ _Royalty_ , you know,” he mused. “So burdened with all their power; having it all forcibly taken from them is their greatest desire in the bedroom.”

“With your father at the helm of the greatest kingdom of Men in this age, you must be a worthy authority on that desire,” Aragorn retorted, refusing to rise to his bait suggesting that as the fated king of Gondor _he_ might enjoy Legolas’s position. 

Boromir’s boastful façade dropped and he might have blushed, had he not already been so flushed already. “I’m a Steward-prince,” he replied. “It’s completely different.”

“Glad to hear you admit it for yourself,” Aragorn replied, now finding Boromir’s pout oddly appealing—or at least the itch in his hand as he thought about the satisfaction of smacking it from his mouth. He would certainly deserve it. Boromir was young enough to be his own son; he had no right speaking to him that way.

They were both surprised when Gimli came with a gasp only minutes after he had started. He snuck a quick sheepish glance at both of them, as if to apologize for his haste-- clearly, his desired release inside the elf had been a long time building-- but the two men were too busy staring one another down to belittle their friend.

Gimli pulled out and laced up the front of his pants, side-stepping along Legolas’s body. “Seems only fair the lad have some pleasure for his own,” he muttered, nodding towards the elf’s erection bouncing from Boromir’s thrusts, red and weeping and clearly sore from the lack of attention. 

“He had better _earn_ it,” Boromir replied as he forced extra deep into Legolas, who seemed to try to say something but of course all that was audible were some muffled syllables around his cock before a slight gagging noise as it hit the back of his throat. Gimli was as quick to drop to his knees as he had been to take Legolas’s ass, taking the elf’s cock between his lips with gusto. His short frame tucked remarkably well under the elf’s prone one, whose long legs still lifted his hindquarters high in the air in offering.

Boromir’s eyes rose back to Aragorn’s, searching for his response to this obvious vacancy. In all truth, Aragorn was grateful for the challenge to rise to, his cock by now nearly bursting the front of his leggings. No one need know how desperate he was to sink deep between the perfect pale globes spread before him, warm and flushed with pleasure. He had been stayed only by his pride in his self-control.

He felt Legolas’s opening with a finger and found no lubrication necessary, thanks to Gimli’s leavings. However, his passage was still tight around the head of his cock as he forced it forward, sliding deep into him with an irresistible groan. He felt the elf spasm around him for a moment as he adjusted-- he wondered with prideful curiosity if his were the largest the elf had had to bear so far-- but Aragorn cupped gentle hands over the smooth skin of his buttocks and he immediately soothed, beginning to fall into rhythm between the thrusts on both ends of his body. He moaned softly at the addition of Gimli’s mouth to his pleasure and Aragorn’s steady hammering against the preferred place deep inside him.

Although Aragorn wanted focus on Legolas as he had fantasized-- to gaze down the long expanse of Legolas’s pale body to watch the subtle shifts in color across the white canvas of his skin and imagine the expressions on his face as he reacted to the pleasure Aragorn was inflicting on him-- unfortunately Boromir was never out of his view, either, and Aragorn could see every detail. Everything from his ruddy face to the hard muscles of his arms and torso was dewy with sweat, with a small stream running down his breastbone. He caught an occasional involuntarily glimpse of the (admittedly impressive) length of his cock, long enough to be seen when he pulled far enough out that Legolas could only lick the head. He could even _smell_ him; Legolas’s scent was woody, herbal, even a little floral, an obviously earthy and elven scent-- so he was sure the spicy musk that nearly overpowered it was Boromir. Aragorn wondered again if _he_ smelled like that?

Worst of all, Boromir was clearly watching _him_ , his eyes alight with provocation, daring him to come first and prove Boromir’s the far greater stamina. Aragorn’s irritation grew to such a fever pitch he no longer merely wished for his absence, but to pull out from Legolas to bend the haughty young man over, spank his backside red, and hold him down to penetrate him just long enough to give him the taste of the humiliation he so readily inflicted on others before returning to finish himself and Legolas, leaving Boromir unspent.

However, he was too immensely comfortable inside Legolas to cease, especially as the elf’s hole began constricting with approaching orgasm. Aragorn was not ready yet so he quickly slapped the tender, stretched skin of his upper thigh, causing him to yelp around Boromir’s cock as he squirmed in response to the stinging handprint and got the master of his rising pleasure. Aragorn couldn’t suppress his own moan feeling his passage also twist even more tightly around him.

The slap apparently had a different effect on Boromir-- or maybe it was simply that Legolas’s diligent sucking had pushed him over the edge-- but only a second later his body stiffened as his orgasm rolled over him along with a very visible flush and an unearthly, shuddering moan. Right on time Aragorn pulled Legolas’s hips sharply back upon his own cock so that Boromir’s popped free of his mouth, spraying Legolas’s face and falling hair with seed.

Boromir sank to his knees as they went weak in the wake of his pleasure, his eyes opening upon the scene before him in an approximate reversal of what Aragorn had walked in on in the first place. Aragorn smiled down at him as he thrust firmly into Legolas several more times, hearing Gimli struggling to keep up with the forceful rhythm. Boromir’s chest heaved with the cost of his exertion, eyes bright as he watched, _finally_ silent and deferential.

Legolas’s moans began to increase in fervency, once again signaling his imminent orgasm. Aragorn almost drew back his hand again to smack him in punishment, but instead went limp as the elf’s tightening body clamped down on him in pleasure, igniting his own. For a moment he saw nothing but black, then stars, then felt himself sink with a groan to his knees after he had pumped the last of his seed into the elf, some of which spilled forth as he removed himself.

When the men had disentangled themselves, Aragorn sat back and pulled out his pipe, lighting up some of his reserves of Longbottom leaf. Legolas pulled on his leggings and retired leisurely against a tree, wiping the last of Boromir’s leavings from his face and looking as cool and collected as he ever did. His hair was mussed but Gimli tenderly attended to it, slowly running his fingers through to remove the tangles.

Boromir watched Aragorn with a spark of mischief in his eyes. At first Aragorn thought he was plotted to get at some of his pipe, but when he tipped his head to the side in curiosity, Boromir spoke with a confidence that still dared to taunt him. “I was just wondering if _my lord_ had decided which course we shall resume on the morn. To the White City? Or more aimless wandering . . . ?”

Boromir had not yet called him _lord_ or anything even close during the entirety of their journey so far. Aragorn repeated himself for what felt like the four-thousandth time. “I have no mind to go to Minas Tirith. And don’t be sarcastic,” he scolded before adding: “or I’ll make your ass sorer than Legolas’s.” 

Aragorn relished the furious blush that consumed the young man’s face as his eyes dropped in embarrassment at the unapologetically graphic threat, thinking to himself that whether he had to act on the threat or Boromir _finally_ deferred to him, he’d be on top either way. He grinned and took a puff on his pipe.


End file.
